


Nightly News

by MissMelysse



Series: CrushVerse [18]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMelysse/pseuds/MissMelysse
Summary: Lore doesn't have a lot to entertain him on BorgWorld. He watches the news. A lot.





	Nightly News

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot runs concurrently with chapters 3&4 of UNACCOMPANIED: A SUITE FOR ACTRESS & ANDROID.

** The Galactic Gaper **

Umrod Chaze, reporting

**Starfleet's Android Caught in Lip-lock with Centauran Celeb's Scion**

_San Francisco, Earth: _Lt. Commander Data, Starfleet's gold-hued golden boy, second officer of the illustrious flagship, _U.S.S. Enterprise_ arrived on Earth via San Francisco Spacedock on Thursday, where he was met with a warm groping – er – _greeting – -_

**=(L)=**

"Stop live feed."

Lore doesn't _have_ to give the computer audible orders. He could have just _thought_ the command, and the device would have done his bidding, but the truth is, sometimes he needs to hear a voice that isn't subservient.

Or monotonous.

Or his own.

Which is part of the reason he's taken to watching the news feeds. Obviously, it's not merely for the illusion that he isn't still (always) essentially alone. It's also because he needs to keep abreast of what's going on in the greater Federation.

Just in case.

As for the tabloids... well... you can glean a lot of information about a society from its more disreputable news sources.

Besides, they're _fun. _

**=(L)=**

The Borg, pitiful broken creatures who look to him for guidance with their luminous grey eyes that manage to combine the innocence of puppies with the dead-cold of sharks, are useful as guards and minions.

They are ideal sycophants.

They are so fucking grateful to have a unifying voice speaking in their heads again – _his _voice – that they will do nearly anything he asks without question. Without pause.

But as conversationalists, as companions, they - as his pretty Pigeon would phrase it – kind of suck.

He misses her – his Pigeon. He misses her snark. Misses the fire in her warm brown eyes. Misses the candy-sweet taste of her coffee-stained mouth.

He misses having someone around who wasn't afraid of him.

But he'd broken her, and broken himself in the process, and even if he hadn't – even if he hadn't done The Thing to his pigeon (_poor broken bird; Lore can't have nice things – _NO!) – even if he hadn't violated her, she'd already chosen his brother.

He's a little amused that he knew before she did, but all the signs were there. Denial. Accelerated heartbeat at the mention of his brother's name. The way she'd chased him in the first place, because she'd thought he _was_ Data.

If she were here, talking to him, snarking at him, he might even let her keep her boots.

Those damned purple boots.

_Note to self: add a codpiece to the new armor. Can't be too careful. _

Saint fucking Data. Patron of tabby cats and broken birds. No social skills to speak of. No emotions. Can't even recognize the punchline of a joke, and _he's_ the one playing tonsil hockey with the Pigeon on all the news feeds.

How is that fucking fair?

**=(L)=**

"Replay from time index zero nine five five."

The video restarts.

He sees his brother come through the umbilical that leads from ship to Spacedock, walking purposefully, shoulders dropped, spinal support ramrod-straight.

He watches the girl – the pigeon – move and notes the moment when Data's focus – predator-sharp – fixates on her.

He stares at the way his brother pulls the girl into his arms and nuzzles her hair. (_He_ remembers the scent of her hair. It's like one of those drinks they serve with an umbrella as a garnish.)

He leans forward, noticing on this playback (number seventy-three) that _Data_ is the one who initiates the kiss. _Data_ is the one bending his head to capture the pigeo – no! Zoe! She's not his pigeon anymore! She's ZOE – _Data _is the one bending his head, meeting her lips, making it clear to everyone that he and she are a couple.

A unit.

Unity.

The word chases its tail around in circles inside his head. He knows Data used the chip. He knows the comm-circuit is live, the relay open and waiting for him – for Lore – to insinuate himself back inside.

But he's not ready.

It's too soon.

He needs more time to prepare. There are structures to be built and circuits to test, and they need to recruit more forces. Crosis says there is another cube in the region – one that is suffering from the same crippling individualization that broke his own cube.

They have to find it.

Lure it in.

Rehabilitate the ones who can cope and use the others to perfect the overlays and relays he's designed in these last, lonely, months.

Great, grey, guinea pigs… but it's all good. They like to be useful, these Borg. They fret when they don't have a purpose.

It's going to take at least a year before Lore can put his ideas into place, but when he does, the Sons of Soong will stand together.

And the Pigeon?

Maybe he'll make an example of her. Let the Borg flood her systems with nano-probes and suck the color out of her skin and push the follicles from her head.

Make her as much a construct as he is.

As Data is.

Or maybe not. Maybe he'll just make her watch as he seduces his brother to the cause, twisting his goodness and selfishness into pure, dark, rage at all that humans have put him through.

Maybe he'll convince Data to share her.

Lore laughs again. Naah. _That _will never happen. Wishful thinking. The truth is – if he came near enough, Pigeon would have her dainty booted foot aimed at his crotch in no time flat.

**=(L)=**

"Computer replay from time index zero ten zero two."

He watches the kiss again.

_There!_ _There it is!_ _Right there!_

A flicker. A tiny flicker. One Zoe probably doesn't notice. One _Data _likely can't discern. But Lore – Lore's been through it – he knows the tells.

His brother… Data… _feels_ for the girl.

Oh, it's not a strong enough feeling for any alarm bells to go off. No nerve-jangling alerts will be informing his brother that his net is changing.

But it's there.

The first sign.

The first _taste_.

For the first time in months (six months, three weeks, six days, four hours, thirty point three seconds), he has, not just _ideas_, but plans.

Actual, executable plans.

It'll still take that year, though. A year, and maybe a smidge more.

But it will happen.

"Computer, replay from time index zero nine five four."

The video from the Betazoid tabloid starts again, and this time, when he watches it, Lore isn't upset. He isn't angry. He isn't even the slightest bit envious.

He watches Data and his Pigeon in their 'lip lock' one more time.

And he laughs.

**=(L)=**

** The Galactic Gaper **

Umrod Chaze, reporting

**Starfleet's Android Caught in Lip-lock with Centauran Celeb's Scion**

_San Francisco, Earth: _Lt. Commander Data, Starfleet's gold-hued golden boy, second officer of the illustrious flagship, _U.S.S. Enterprise_ arrived on Earth via San Francisco Spacedock on Thursday, where he was met with a warm groping – er – _greeting – _from celebrity composer Zachary Harris's only daughter Zoe, who's currently part of the Idyllwild Theatre Troupe's summer season.

It's no secret that Commander Data is the only artificial life form serving in Starfleet, but as far as we can tell, his relationship with Ms. Harris is as real as it gets.

Elsewhere in the Federation, that Ambassador of Amour, Lwaxana Troi of Betazed, has recently separated from her latest long-term beau. Is she on the prowl again? Daughters, lock up your well-fortuned fathers.

**=(L)=**

When Crosis comes to give his daily report, Lore is still watching the video on an endless loop.

And he is still laughing.


End file.
